


Finding Home

by shan21non



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, pure happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1923198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shan21non/pseuds/shan21non
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Rose find home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Doctor and Rose Last Author Standing. Man it was hard limiting myself to 1000 words! Anyway, the theme was "Something Borrowed."

R ose couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold. Her  _teeth_  were numb. She never realized that teeth could go numb until today.

  
“How long until the Flight of the Air Squids?” she asked.  
  
The Doctor shot her a disapproving look.  
  
“It’s the Migration of the Mondaloks.”  
  
Rose bounced on her feet in a half-hearted attempt to generate body heat.  
  
“Right. That.”  
  
“I can see why you might get confused. Mondaloks are cephalopods with bilateral symmetry, bulbous heads, and tentacles. They even squirt an ink-like substance to propel their bodies. But Mondaloks move through air, not water, and instead of ink they release a type of chemical.”  
  
“Why do they release chemicals?”  
  
“To call their children home,” the Doctor said.  
  
Rose was momentarily distracted from the cold.  
  
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
  
“ _Welllll_ , baby Mondaloks leave the nest quickly and are reluctant to return to mate as adults. They need a little coaxing from mum and dad. So the parents fly all the way to the Cliffs of Yon and home again, leaving behind a trail of chemicals to lure the kiddies back.”  
  
Rose was seized by a vision of Jackie running back and forth between the TARDIS and their flat in Powell Estate, leaving a fine chemical mist in her wake.  
  
“And when the chemicals in the Mondalok spray come into contact with the Sibrincian atmosphere, a reaction occurs and it’s… well, I can’t wait for you to experience it.”  
  
A particularly strong gust of wind swept over them.  
  
“Me neither,” Rose groaned.  
  
“Cold, are we?” the Doctor asked knowingly.  
  
Another gust of wind started up, and Rose snapped.  
  
“Yes, I bloody well am! All right? Are you happy?” she demanded.  
  
The Doctor smiled broadly.  
  
“Of course not! Why would that make me happy? Just because I  _warned_  you that it would be cold—”  
  
“Chilly! You said it might get  _chilly_. You said nothing about it becoming completely  _arctic_  the instant the sun goes down,” Rose interrupted.  
  
“I seem to remember a certain someone crowing about how, ‘London has cold winters and I’ve always been able to run around in miniskirts without freezing.’ And now you don’t have enough time to change before the migration,” the Doctor said.  
  
“You didn’t wear your overcoat! You wear the bloody thing on the beach, but not on Planet Siberia?” she snapped.  
  
“Planet  _Sibrincia_ , Rose,” the Doctor corrected.  
  
“Should be called Siberia,” she muttered.  
  
“Time Lord physiology. Don’t need a coat. I only wear it because I like the look,” he explained.  
  
Rose scowled at him.  
  
“Fine. Then give me your suit jacket,” she said, tugging at his sleeve.  
  
He took a step back.  
  
“I  _like_  my suit jacket,” he whined.  
  
“I’m not going to keep it!”  
  
She took a step toward him. He took another step back.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. You won’t even be able to button it,” he protested.  
  
Rose halted mid-step.  
  
“ _Excuse me_?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.  
  
The Doctor’s eyes widened.  
  
“I didn’t mean—that is—obviously you’re—you’re very fit!” he sputtered.  
  
She continued to glare. The Doctor rambled on.  
  
“It’s just that you have certain parts that I don’t have, and my jacket won’t button over your—across your… front… area… there,” he finished, gesturing awkwardly at her chest.  
  
Rose smirked.  
  
“Is the big, powerful Time Lord struggling to say the word ‘breasts?’” she taunted.  
  
The Doctor looked scandalized.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he blustered. “‘Breasts.’ There. I said it.”  
  
Rose nodded indulgently.  
  
“I was wrong. You’re very brave. Now give me your jacket. I don’t need to button it.”  
  
“I  _am_  brave,” he grumbled petulantly, but he let her remove the jacket.  
  
The pinstripes didn’t do much, but the worst of the wind could no longer reach her skin. Perhaps the Doctor noticed her continued discomfort, because he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, clasping his hands together against her lower back.  
  
“Better?” he asked.  
  
“My breasts and I thank you,” she mumbled into his sleeve.  
  
“You and your breasts are very welcome,” he replied.  
  
She smiled and turned so that she could peer over the crook of his elbow.  
  
Suddenly the moonlit sky was flooded with dark shapes. Tentacled creatures swarmed through the air above them, spinning and twisting and undulating in a huge choreographed dance.  
  
Then, all at once, the sky turned inky black. For a moment Rose worried that the spray had made the air unbreathable, but she quickly found that this was not the case. Then something changed.  
  
“Doctor, what’s that smell?” she asked.  
  
“You tell me,” he replied, smiling.  
  
Rose tilted her head and sniffed at the air. That was strange. Well, it wasn’t strange, actually. It was oddly familiar.  
  
She smelled oak… burnt circuitry… tea… and old books.  
  
“The TARDIS,” she whispered. Then, a bit louder, “Why does it smell like the TARDIS?”  
  
His eyes widened. He dropped his arms from around her and took a step back.  
  
“Really? That’s what you smell?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah, of course. Don’t you smell it too?”  
  
“Well, yes, but that’s because… You see, it’s supposed to smell differently to every organism that inhales it.”  
  
“Why?” she asked.  
  
“Because it’s supposed to smell like home.”  
  
His words hung in the air between them for a moment.  
  
“Scent is the strongest sense attached to memories. The Mondaloks smell home, and they follow it.”  
  
“Oh,” she said softly.  
  
She found the Doctor staring at her with an expression that she couldn’t quite name. Gratitude? Fondness? Or maybe… No. The Doctor didn’t feel that way about companions.  
  
“We should go back. You’re freezing,” he said abruptly.  
  
She didn’t want to go, didn’t want the Doctor to stop looking at her that way.  
  
“I’ll be fine. We can go home in a bit,” she pleaded.  
  
She tugged at his hands, and, after a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her once more. He tucked his chin into her shoulder, and she felt his lips curl into a smile against her neck.  
  
“Home,” he repeated softly.


End file.
